Betrayal Diaries XII

I’m trying to have some peace and quiet. That’s what I always long for. That’s what I don’t get these days at all, thanks to you.
You are a heartless bastard, as I always point out. You don’t care about anyone or anything, but you; your highness; your majesty; you love yourself way too much. Funny thing is, you don’t deserve to be loved at all. You have no understanding of what love is. Take what you do again today as an example:

I’m trying to have some peace and quiet. That’s when you call. I know it’s you. For the first time since I met you, I don’t even feel like talking to you. But I can’t just ignore the phone ringing. I pick up. You sound distressed.
- What’s wrong again?
- I don’t know. Molly called and said she needs to talk. Told me to stay at home, not to go to college.
- You know what? I’ve had enough. Just don’t bother about me anymore. She’ll be happy too.
Do I really say that?!?
I’m amazed. I not only say it, I mean it! I am really sick and tired of your cowardice. I hate it. I hate you for it. But, truth is, I don’t even hate you anymore. What I feel for you is just a shadow of what I used to feel. Is the love we shared already a cooling corpse? So fast? So easy? In like 24 hours?
Wow! I’m amazed.
- I don’t really need this right now.
- Fine!
- I have to go.
- Fine!
I cut the line. Another thing that couldn’t have happened yesterday. Something more to be amazed about. Time, such a short time, it can change everything. It has…
My phone rings again. It’s Molly this time. I hesitate. I’m not sure if I should pick up; or maybe not?
I pick up anyway. She’s mad; which is nothing new! Is cursing and shouting and threatening. Telling me that she’s going to call my dad! What nonsense! I don’t believe I’m hearing this. Seems like her friends have been following you around. She says they’ve seen us together. The thing is I’m not sure about the time and place. Have they seen us, or you with somebody else? I’d rather not go there, not yet. She says she’s going to either leave you or something. She’s hard to understand. You know she’s always been, at least to me.
- My advice to you is that instead of being a bitch, go home to your husband; be nice to him. You want to keep him to yourself, make him happy. Make him realize that as long as he has you he won’t need anybody else.
- I’ve been married for five years. I know how to treat my husband.
I laugh hard and loud. It pisses her off some more. But I can’t help it. Does she believe that herself? If she knew how to treat you, or any man for that matter, she wouldn’t be chasing after you chasing after other women; she wouldn’t be bounding and gagging you to keep you at her side; she wouldn’t ba havin this conversation with me right now; she would be in your arms a lot more, in your bed sometimes!
I cut the line again.
Here’s when you break the last treads keeping me at your side.
You call. I know your phone is on loudspeaker. But I don’t need that knowledge to talk to you in my coldest tone. Meet the queen of ice! That’s what you’re going to get. From now on. Unless you change your attitude.
You’re already a lost cause. What you have to say is that you’ve told Molly that you’ve talked to me at college. And that she’s not happy about it.
- What should I do? You’re asking me not to come to college?
Lost cause. You’re so hopeless. You don’t even hear the obvious sarcasm in my voice and words.
- No. I’m not saying that. I’m saying that we shouldn’t talk anymore. Not at all. Not even greetings and stuff.
- Fine by me. I’d rather not even see you. You don’t talk to me, I won’t have to insult you.
- So is it settled then? And…
- And what?
- I don’t know. Goodbye I guess.
I cut the line, yet again. Good thing for you that we have this conversation on the phone. Had you been here, within my reach, I wouldn’t have slapped you this time. It would have been a spit, right in your unworthy cowardly eyes.
I know you. I know why you mumble on the phone. You want me to know that you’re trying to calm her down; that you don’t mean what you’re saying.
But I’m not falling prey to that anymore. You can’t charm me anymore. Your spell has been worn off for a while now. I just hadn’t seen it. I see it now. I’m free; free of you and your lies; free of you and your empty promises; free of you and your betrayals; free at last…
You call me from a pay phone after a couple of hours.
- I’m sorry. I want you to know that as long as you want me to, I’ll call you. I want to. It will be a lot less than before; a lot harder. But I want to talk to you. I will.
- Are you doing this for me?
- I’m doing this for you. I’m doing this for me. For us. I want to.
- Because if you want to call for me, then I don’t want you to.
You don’t hear the sarcasm, again. Do you ever?!?
- And by the way, I talked her out of calling your parents.
- You shouldn’t have. You think my parents are like hers and yours? Let her call. They’ll make her regret it. They’ll make her hate to look at herself in the mirror. They’ll make her want to die.
What you don’t know is that my parents already know that Molly’s been sleeping around behind your back. They’re not her biggest fans. They just tolerated her being around for you. And besides, they know that had I really wanted to take you away from her, I could have. They know me. They know I tried my best not to be a threat to Molly and her life.
And most importantly, they are my parents. They’re always going to have my back, no matter what.
I told you my parents are not like yours or hers.
I’m just tired of this constant struggle. You’re so not worth my while anymore. I guess you never were. I guess I fooled myself into believing that you were. How we trick ourselves. How we trap ourselves. But one of the reasons why I feel proud of myself is that I’m a survivor. I know when to get the hell out. I know when to take my life and run.
I’m going to take my heart and run.
There’s only so much I can take. I’ve been through a lot with you and for you. You never showed any appreciation. You talked about how good and nice and kind I am; stupid that is. But you never took one step out of your way just to please me.
And today, that phone-call you make to make her happy, that’s the end of it. That’s your choice. I won’t let you humiliate me like that. I won’t buy your lies anymore. You always have a choice. If it’s to please her, then it gives me the right to make my choice. You care for her. I care for me. You look after her. I look after me. I’m out of here.
My heart’s broken into a thousand bloody pieces. Besides that, I’m getting out unharmed, in one piece.
The pain, the humiliation, the self-doubt and self-hatred I feel are blinding me. Besides that, I’m getting out with more knowledge and insight I could ever muster without you betraying my love.
I think of having my revenge. I consider destroying you, and your marriage. But I know that nothing I can do will ever be more painful than having to live with her, having my memories with you. I know that it’s the worst punishment for you to know that you could have chosen differently, but you didn’t. Your marriage can never work. You’ll never be happy. You’ll go on having affairs, looking for what you shared with me for a while; all in vain. You’ll be in pain. You’ll live in regret. You’ll long for me; for the unconditional love I bestowed on you.
You’ll live in hell…
Me?
I’m moving on…

Betrayal Diaries XI

Another morning. Another weekday. Another day at college, with the two of us sitting in the same classroom, pretending not to see or know each other. Life sucks. Always has, always will. You just made it worse…
Hours, even days, come and go. And you don’t bother to think about what you should do about me, let alone for me.
I see you as I walk towards the class with my friends. Despite everything I might have told you, these girls are my friends. They are there for me. They do whatever I ask them to. They feel bad for me. They feel happy for me. They cry with me. They laugh with me. They hurt with me. They have fun with me.
Right now, they’ve just had breakfast with me!
You’re busy with your cell phone. Sending me a text-message?
You are! You’re asking me if I want to go to rent DVDs after the class.
Despite everything I just told you, I’m more loyal to you than to my girls.
We’ve made plans to go shopping after the class. But I cancel on them in a flash. To go with you. To be with you. For about fifteen minutes. I do it anyway.
But we have to sit through the class first. It’s another foolish day of the students giving presentations of their teaching skills and methods. I hate to be there. I’m not a teacher. Never going to be one either. The job isn’t my thing. I have no passion, no patience, and no understanding for it. You know all these. But the selfish inconsiderate man in you takes over again. You have to ask me to be next, in the professor’s presence! You have to get him interested in seeing me teach!
It’s supposed to be voluntarily; but he’s upset as I refuse:
- There are marks for the presentation, you understand.
- Sir, is it a threat or a bribe?
The class explodes in laughter. But it doesn’t help me out. Maybe it even makes the old man more stubborn. I have to give in now. But I hate your guts more than ever for it.
That’s why I keep telling you that I had to cancel my plans with the girls for you on the way. And I now realize that no matter how many times I explain to you that it’s my cry for love and attention, you get angry again. You, you’re so lost when it comes to understanding normal women!
We get our movies bad-temperedly. We walk out.
- I parked the bike down the street. You wanna walk with me?
- If you want me to.
- Do you think of saying that beforehand, or does it just pop out?!?
We stop to talk for a few minutes. I need to tell you how cold and distant you’re growing. I just don’t know how.
- Will you be upset if I find a boyfriend?
You don’t reply. You smirk. You look everywhere but not at me. Your face loses some of its dark color under the ugly beard. You want to pretend you don’t care so desperately.
- Are we seeing other people now?
I don’t have to answer that!
- I mean, I know that I already am. But I still have some roots, strong roots, in your heart; don’t I?
My turn to turn white. I don’t know what pains me most; the fact that you know how much I love you, or that you don’t love me back that much.
I touch my chest. It’s healing well. But it still hurts a little. And you’re there to observe it. You still don’t know for sure that it’s a cut though. You have your doubts; but I insist that it’s just a pimple! Do you actually believe that lousy lie?!?
- It’s a new cut, isn’t it?
- No! No! Are you crazy?
- You were showing it off the other day. But, why there?
You have no clue that I did it on Molly’s birthday.

You’re teaching the class. You’re focused on getting the students involved. Right now one is reading the short story you’re teaching. And I’m focused on you. I want to talk to you. To meet you in private. To make love to you.
My fingertips get wet. Warm and wet. I look down. I’m doing it again. I have my nails in the cuts on my chest. I try to cover them up with the Band-Aid again. When I look back up, I see you’re watching me. There’s wrath and pain and regret in your eyes. I’m scared of what you’ll do to me if you find me alone anytime soon…
And to think that I dare say to you when the class is over:
- Your way of teaching is fake, as is everything else about you!

I simply disregard the fact that you’re trying to get the truth about my chest out of me. The good thing about forgetful men is that they don’t get it when women change the subject!
I go back to telling you that it’s hard to believe you still care about me.
These days, I always go back to the day you said you didn’t love me. Will you ever be able to make that up to me? Will you ever be able to wipe that memory off my mind? Will you?
- How was the birthday sex by the way?
It makes you laugh again. It is quite amusing for you why I think of things which upset me more instead of trying to be happy.
- I still care. It sucks that I can’t talk to you and meet you and be with you as much as I’d like to. But the problem is that I run out of plans for getting out of my flat.
- To me, it seems like you run out of the will to try.
- No! It’s nothing like that. I just lack the perseverance.
- You have given up on me! On us!
Two shiny drops of tears run down my cheeks. That’s one thing I never run out of. Not these days.
We have to say goodbye. I’m the first one to move. I’ve taken a few steps away from you when you call me back to you:
- Hey, hey. Come back here. I wanna tell you something.
I walk back. You grab my arm to pull me close. I, of course, don’t resist. You whisper in my ear:
- Be good, my Chica.
Why do I feel you just use that line as an alibi to have me close?
I feel you’re smelling my perfume, my shampoo, my body, again. I feel you’re fingers are pressing my arm, like that very first night. I feel you’re trying to have me close, keep me close. I know you’re against public displays of affection. I know you have to, because you’re married. I feel you can’t simply hug me and kiss me; you have to come up with something like that to get me close enough.
I feel your body heat through your clothes and mine. I feel your pain and love, your loss and sorrow, your passion and desire, in the broken voice that whispers in my ear. It’s just a simple short sentence. But I hear a lot in it. That’s why I kiss you on the cheek before I pull away. Sweetheart, I wish things were different too...

You’re leaving me alone way too much. For my happiness. For your own good. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know how my mind works? Don’t you expect an e-mail or two, like these?

Hey Boss,

I don't even know why I'm writing to you. You sure as hell don't wanna be with me anymore. And I understand that. We had a deal. I begged you to stay with me till my fucking birthday. You gave in. the birthday is over now. So is your commitment to me I see. Why didn't I see it coming?

You don't come to talk to me at college anymore. You don't call me a number of times a day anymore. You don't go to bed early to message me anymore. You don't message me at all anymore. You simply don't care I guess.
Why do I love you so desperately still?

You don't meet me. You don't call me. You don't talk to me. You’re not with me. You don't make love to me. You don't love me. These are all the facts that I need to know.
You’re getting away, you're leaving, you're... I don't know. What are you doing? I'm still waiting for you to say the things that I need to hear in person. Will I? Will I ever?
And I'm not scared of you leaving me anymore. You have already left. It used to be a nightmare. It’s a simple fact now. Like the fact that I'm the loneliest, most miserable I've ever been. Like the fact that I'm dead inside, though I pretend to live for your sake. Like the fact that...

And I don't even need to curse you. How can I want to hurt you more than you already are? What can I wish for that can possibly be worse than what you have to live through every day?
You’re just so deep in; you don't see or feel it anymore.
Your life, hell on earth.
Your future, as dark as the depths of my heart.
Your heart, as empty and dead as my soul.
Your soul, as dead as my body.

Will you cut and burn and harm yourself physically, for what you do to me? Or is your heart so cold, your soul so dead, that you'll forget me in no time? Will your life ever be the same, go back to normal, or was the love you once felt for me real enough to keep me on your mind forever?
Or will you come back to me for a few more weeks?

You sure don't need me to curse you.
I need you to have some peace...

Bye

And then, hours later:

Hey Boss,

Just writing to thank you. For today. For today, finally, you said how things were.
It's not your lack of perseverance that prevents you from trying to call or meet me. It's your lack of interest.
You don't even care if I'm with someone else, because you simply don't care.

Why should I love you?
Why do I love you?

I'm deleting the chapters I've written.
I'm burning whatever helps me remember you.
I'll acid-wash the skin you've touched, you've kissed.
I'll cut my tongue out not to tell you that I love you anymore.
I'll cut my heart open not to love you anymore.

Thanks for coming out with the truth.
That day, when you said you didn't love me,
That was the bitter truth...

Peace,
Ch…

Betrayal Diaries X

I don’t want to open my eyes. I don’t want to get out from under the warm blanket. I don’t want to get out of my house in the early morning cold. But I’m going to meet you.
I’m practically freezing as I shower. But I want to smell of shampoo when you hug me. And I then take a long time trying to figure out what I want to wear. I finally decide that I should take it easy. I wear something you’ve already seen. I’m brushing my hair when I receive a message on my cell phone. It freaks me out. Early morning; I have a date with you; it has to be you; canceling on me.
I don’t even bother to read it. I sit on the cold floor. I drop my phone. I fight the tears. I lose the fight.
The tears aren’t dried yet when you call. I try to keep them out of my voice as I talk to you.
I’m wrong after all. You’re just confused about the timing. You don’t know what time we’re supposed to meet. I don’t know where! We make new plans.
You come to pick me up in half an hour. Will I ever get used to the ugly beard? Something I very seriously doubt!
We can be together for two to three hours while you run some errands. You’re preoccupied. I’m in pain. It’s not a good idea for us to be together right now probably. But it’s Molly’s birthday today. I need to be with you for a while today. I need to feel I’m an active part of your life today. Call it brutal; selfish; call it jealousy; anything. Today, I need to feel that I share something with you; that I’m not a total loser.
What is it with me and my sixth sense?
How do I ask the right question at the right time?
We are waiting for your bike to be ready so we can be on the move towards our college when I ask the crucial question of the day:
- So, when are you going on your trip?
- Sometime in January.
- You’re going after all?!?
- Seems so. I’ve been supposed to book the tickets in the past couple of days. I just try to postpone it…
I wonder when you meant to share the news with me. I try not to take it too hard. You must know I’m hurt. You explain that Molly was going alone. But then her parents asked her a lot of questions and she decided to go with you.
You weak bastard. You’ll never grow up. You‘ll never be a man. You’ll never have any power over your life and destiny. Something that I truly despise you for.
I think I’ll hurt you or myself if I stay. But I don’t want to make anymore rash decisions. Don’t want it to seem like me walking out on you again. I feel I’m walking under water. I feel the air is tick. I feel that it’s filling up my lungs; that I’ll suffocate in a matter of second. I feel I’m watching my soul leave my body. I’m dying again; in your hands; again.
The sad thing is, we just talked about how yesterday helped change our friendship in a good way. How we are closer now; more relaxed; more in love –if that’s even possible.
And you pull a stunt like this on me, the very next day!
I see myself, in slow motion. How rapidly I’m blinking not to let the tears well up in my eyes. How I take off my jumper and sit in my thin cotton shirt in the cold weak sun. How I fold it neatly in my attempt to look calm and composed. How I stand up and offer my hand to you.
- What? Are you going now?!?
That surprise in your voice! My heart is hurting, as much for you as for me. I tell you that I can’t stay. That I need to get the hell out. You, though you say that you can’t leave the place, you follow me. You sit me down. You tell me that you’ll try some more. You’ll try not to go. You have no idea what goes on in my head.
For starters, I hate it that she always gets away with anything; that she always has her way. But I also believe in a cruel, but fair world. There will come a day when you, or people who care about you are not around her. There will come a time when she is left to her own devices. What will she do then? Right now, you protect her and take care of her and do everything her way. You feel you’re doing her a favor. You even make people around you treat her the same way as a favor to you. What you don’t seem to understand is that you’re not setting a very good example. You’re giving her the confidence that she’s right all the time and that she has every right to anything she wants. You make her feel like the world is obliged to please her. You and I both know that it’s not the way it works. She abuses me and disrespects me; I take it all because I love you. So do a lot of others. But, what about those who don’t care that much about you? How about those who are not blessed with as much patience as I am? You ever thought of that? Do you have any idea how someday someone is going to crush her and break her and damage her to unimaginable extents? Do you know that it will be your fault? Your fault for not letting her grow up and take responsibility for her actions?
Where would I be on that day, to tell you “I told you so”?
Then there’s the issue of you, you and your weakness, you and your fears, your and your excuses, you and your.... I wish I knew more about you. I wish I knew more about your past. I wish I knew more about your past with her. I wish I knew what power she holds over you. I wish I knew why you’re so scared of her.
About this trip, you may not be able to force her to go alone. But why can’t you just tell her that she has a choice between going alone and not going at all? Why can’t you tell her that you joining her is not an option? Why can’t you stand your ground?
I don’t understand you at times.
Anyways, in the two seconds it takes me to think of all that, I somehow calm down. We get your bike. We move towards the college.
I’m still hurt. I need you to tell me that you don’t want to go. That you’ll miss me. That you need to be close to me; to see me; every day. As you normally don’t say things like that without my encouragement, I tell you how bad I’m feeling.
- You leave me for that long, not meeting, not talking, I won’t be yours by the time you come back.
- It’s your call!
Why do you have to be such an asshole at times? Is it really that difficult to understand that this trip of yours isn’t simply a trip to me? To me, it’s the symbol of you leaving me. It’s a symbol of you choosing to please her at any cost to me. A symbol of you choosing her.
As usual, we can’t walk in together for fear of being seen and caught. When you drop me off I tell you that I’m sorry. Look how lost you are:
- Why are you sorry? What have you done?
“What have you done” not “what are you going to do”. You have no idea how hurt I am. I need some time and space to think. I need a chance to hurt you. Instead of walking in, I walk on. But in about fifteen minutes I feel sorry for you. I know you can’t follow me today. Not on her birthday. If I don’t contact you, if I turn my phone off, if I do anything that stupid, then you’ll be too hurt. You might disappear on me again. That I can’t afford. So I arrange to meet after college.
Besides, we’ve already agreed to talk about our needs and wants. I can’t hold on to my pride if you’re not smart enough to figure out how you should treat me on your own. Talk we do.
- I know there are things that you can’t change. I don’t have to understand or like it, but I accept it. I just talk to you, I express how bad I feel because I need you to tell me that you understand my pain too.
- I know. I know I overreact. I’m sorry. It’s just that I feel you’re mad at me and that you’re questioning my feelings for you. I feel I have to defend myself.
Talk about miscommunication!
We’re saying goodbye. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to hurt. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m hoping that all these talking will help us learn to deal with this mess better. Will it?
You stand me up in the shadows to tell me that you have to join Molly for lunch. I know that already. I just need some love and understanding before you go. The hug you give me really helps. The rest is talking.
- One more request.
- Yes, baby?
- I want you to see how I’m struggling, how I’m trying, to understand you, to accept your life. I want you to tell me that you know about my pain. I want you to tell me that you know how I feel. You’re a soft sensitive man. That’s why I fell for you. I don’t want you to hide it. I want you to tell me that you feel the same. Tell me that you love me. Tell me that your life sucks if I’m not there.
The pain in your eyes!
- But you should know all that!
- I do know. But I need to hear you say it at times. That’s why I talk to you. Why I tell you how bad I feel. To get you to talk about your feelings too. I don’t say those things to upset you or hurt you. I don’t say them to attack you or question you. I don’t doubt you. You don’t need to justify or defend yourself. You can just open up a bit.
- Ok. I will. I just want you to go home and be ok. I want you try not to think about anything before I go on the trip, if I go…
You already know that I love your eyes. I specially love them when they are tearful. I love the soft side of you a lot better than the smart-ass!
Right now, as you blink your tears away, as you hold on to my fingers, as you caress me with your eyes, I know you’ve never loved anyone the way you love me, never before, never again. I know you. I know you love me. I know you’re mine.
I just wish you would keep your eyes on my face. But you don’t. You glance at my hands in yours. You turn my palm upward. I’m too slow to prevent it. There it is. The red inflamed marks. I wish I could take the pain in your eyes away.

Now I’m back at my place. Haven’t eaten all day. But I have no appetite. I just lie down on the cold floor in front of the TV. I want to distract myself. I don’t want to think about what you’re doing today. I just want to close my eyes. I want to go to sleep. To go to sleep and never have to open my eyes to the world again. I just want to close my eyes.
I close my eyes.

Are you making love to her tonight?
You don’t call it that, not with her. When it’s with her, you call it having sex. Tonight I don’t care what name you give it. Are you doing it? Because it’s her birthday? Like what you did for me yesterday? Are you telling her that you want it to be right tonight? Like you told me? Are you trying to make it extra long, exceptionally pleasurable for her?
Are you kissing her? Are you caressing her? Are you enjoying her? Really enjoying? Or are you just performing a dutiful ritual?
Do you moan with her too?
Do you do everything the way you do with me? Do you do anything the way you do with me? Do you tell her the things you tell me when we make love?
It’s driving me crazy…
Are you betraying me tonight?
Making love, it’s the main thing, the only thing, that I’m the winner at. it’s what you share with me and not with her. What makes me feel I have something special with you. What, it’s what I don’t want to share with her.
Are you doing it right now?
Why didn’t you take my cutters and blades with you? I can’t resist them. I’m going to cut a cross on my chest tonight. To hope for the scar to remain for the rest of my miserable life. As a memorial of you, betraying me…

Betrayal Diaries IX

I open my eyes to my 28th birthday at 7:00 am. You’re coming over to pick me up. We’re going to the university again. Will it be fun? Will it help me deal with my birthday better this year? I’m not so sure. Let’s see how it starts off. I, I want you so much these days; as I always do after we have a fight. I want you today. I want you to come in. I want you to want me.
But I’m supposed to play it cool. I’m not going to let you see how bad I need you right now. I’m going to be fully dressed, completely ready, by the time you show up.
Great time management. I’m impressed with myself!
I’m getting my bag when I hear a sound outside my door. Yes, it’s you. I open the door before you get a chance to either ring the bell or use your key.
- What? Do I have a magic key now?
You have no idea how hard it is for me to smile today. Or maybe you do?
I’m going to put up a good show today anyway. I’m going to pretend to be happy, to pretend to have fun, because I know you want to see that happiness today. You don’t need to know that it’s fake.
You walk in. You ask for a kiss and a hug. I’m the birthday girl after all. As I walk into your arms I’m hoping that it will lead to something more serious. As I kiss you I’m wishing for you to just pick me up and carry me to my bed. Do you ever fulfill my dreams? Do you ever give me what I need?
Maybe it’s because you’re already late. Maybe it’s the fact that I even have my shoes on. Whatever the reason, the hug remains a hug, the kiss a kiss. I still have the whole day ahead of me though; to be miserable, or to give you a chance to turn it into something fun. Let’s see what happens.
We’re taking a long ride to the university on your bike. It is early morning. The sun hasn’t had a chance to get everything warm and live yet. As haven’t you. But I’m trying my best. Giving you, and the sun, time to shine through for me today. And it’s a good thing that it’s cold. I’m sitting too close to you. I can feel you. I can smell you. I can feel your body heat through your thick shirt. I know you can feel me too. The question is, does it affect you the way it affects me?
Right now, do you want me as much as I want you? Do you feel as restless as I do? Do you feel as hot inside as I do? Do you feel as if a part of your body is missing? Do you feel the heat, the need, the pain, all over you? Do you want to stop on the road and take me there and then?
Don’t tell me that you don’t.
You know I do.
We make it there. We’re ok. No fights, no discussions, no arguments, no disagreements so far. I’m doing a good job with the show. You actually believe that I’m happy. Or do you?
I’m back to being hungry. I love to tease you about needing my bacon and eggs on each and every morning that we get a chance to be together. I think you enjoy it too. In fact, you seem so pleased to see me eat that I’d be fat in no time if we could hang out more and eat together. Luckily, for both of us, we can’t.
But today we’re lucky in a different sense. We’re lucky, because we’re having breakfast together, after a very long time.
It turns out to be not a very good idea.
- Do you really want to go back to our college for the class today?
- Yes. I have to. And I am going.
- Maybe we can go back to my place instead?
- No. I’ll go to college. You can go home if you want to.
So much for your being nice and kind! You suck!
I throw up the whole breakfast there and then.
But I have to accept it. Maybe you’ll understand one day how hard it is on me to be rejected; to be rejected by you.
The breakfast is over. The matter of going back to my place is settled. We decide to take a walk in our park. There are no weird spiders around this time though. No worries. I’m there to sting you!
- So, you don’t need me anymore. But you’ll regret it. Think of all the times that you’re going to have to jack off to my image! Because after today, that’s all you’re going to get!
You just laugh. You’re learning to see the funny side of my anger. You’re beginning to realize that I just say those things to get back at you. That the only thing that I really mean when I talk to you is that I love you. It’s a great feeling. To have you smile at my not so serious anger. I wish I could also get you to respond well to my real issues.
We need that understanding sooner than we imagine. It’s in the cab, on the way back to our college. You have your hand on my knee. It’s about the most aggressive you can get in public. And I’m making peace with it. I don’t really need you to do anything wild for me. The smallest touch, the shortest smile, the simplest look will do.
But then your phone rings. It’s Molly. And you tell her that you’re skipping your second class today. The first time I hear about it. It hurts. I just try to ignore it; to ignore you; to just gaze outside and not see anything; not feel you.
I don’t know what happens now. You’re holding my hand. You’re pressing it. You’re hurting it. The cuts on my palm, I’ve lost count of them, they’re hurting and burning like crazy. Why don’t you let go? The pain is blinding me. And you keep saying:
- Open your fist.
- Open your fist now!
- OPEN YOUR FIST.
- Please!
Your voice is angry, yes. But the last word you say, there’s a lot more pain in it than anger. I turn my head. I look at your teary eyes. I open my fist. And the pain ends. As it happens, you aren’t hurting me. It is me, the whole time. I am pushing my nails into the wounds…
God knows I’m sorry. I don’t even notice that I’m doing that. I don’t mean to hurt myself; don’t mean to hurt you. I put my arms around you. I kiss your wet eyes a hundred times. I whisper to you and try to comfort you.
I expect you to do the same to me. You know I’m in pain too. My pain must be a lot worse than yours, a lot deeper. But you do nothing as I put my head on my knees to cry my heart out.
I feel so not loved, not wanted, not needed. What’s the point of crying? I need to act.
We’re approaching a red traffic light. That’s my green light, my window of opportunity, my way out. I tell you how sorry I am. I kiss you on the lips. And the cab’s still moving when I open the door and step out.
I lose my balance. I’m about to fall. In the middle of the road. With cares moving around. I fall, I die. You don’t try to hold me. I manage to stay on my feet. I walk on. I see your cab drive by. It’s only now that I remember how you tend to disappear when I walk out on you.
I can’t take that. I can’t afford that. I call you on your phone:
- Are you really going to college?
- Yes. Almost there now.
- I need to talk to you.
- We will. After the class.
You cold bastard! Wait till the day when I don’t love you anymore. You’ll pay dearly for all these. For now, you have the higher hand. It won’t last forever though.
I walk inside. I see my gang of girls. They’re going out for tea. I’ve already been sick this morning. I’m not eating or drinking, ever again! I just go to the class, looking for you. I’m not there yet when you call. Tell me you’re not coming. Ask me to pick you up.
I pick you up in about ten minutes. You’re going to get something for lunch and head back home to Molly. I’m supposed to be hurt. But as you sit in the cab, as I thank you for talking to me, you just wrap me tightly in your arms and kiss me on the cheek.
The sun is out again. It’s warm again. There’s light, hope, life again.
I’m in your arms.
I offer you a new deal:
- Why don’t we try something new? I want you to tell me whatever it is that you want me to do for you. And I swear to our love that I’ll do it for you. In return, I’ll tell you how I want you to treat me, and if it is within your power, you do it for me. Agreed?
- Nothing vague like be nice or be kind?
- No. nothing vague. Plain simple English.
- Give me an example.
- Ok. Like when I walk out on you. You’ve ignored me. You’ve shouted at me. You’ve disappeared on me. You’ve done it all. Except for one thing.
- I can’t beg you.
- No silly! Next time, just hold me. See if that works. Maybe if you do that once, just once, then I’ll never walk out again.
- Why do you do it?
- Because I need you to hold me. Because you don’t do it of your own. I feel you will if you see me hurt, see me walking out.
Those eyes. Those shiny tears. How can you tell me you don’t love me?
We sit in the restaurant to wait for your food. You put my birthday present on the table. The present that I don’t want to receive. The present that scares me so much. I don’t know why. But there it is. I can’t refuse it. It’s mine. It’s from you. It’s in front of me. In front of my eyes. I can’t resist.
I’m all laughter as I open the wrapping paper. It’s the craziest gift ever.
- If my friends ask me what I got for my birthday, I wouldn’t know what to say. I’d have to say let me show it to you. I don’t know what it is!
That’s true. I don’t know. Neither do you. It is the most special gift I’ve ever received; not so far; not yet; ever. It doesn’t do anything. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t have a name. It just, is! And it’s my birthday present. It’s from you. It’s mine.
I simply love it.
It’s Molly’s birthday tomorrow. You haven’t got her a gift yet.
- For the last time, do you want me to go with you?
- I want to be with you more. But it will upset you to watch me shop for her.
- Honey, the way I see it, you’re going to get her something whether or not I’m there. But if I’m there, at least I get to spend more time with you. Why should I be upset with that?
- Are you sure? I’d love you to go with me?
That’s how we arrange to meet again, in an hour. We kiss goodbye, and we go our separate ways. For an hour or so…

I’m in the fitting room, trying on a couple of tops. I’m treating myself to a birthday gift let’s say. You call to say that you’ll be early. I’m obviously pleased. I show you the few pieces of jewelry that I know Molly likes when you join me. They seem to be way too expensive for your budget. And as strange as it may seem, it really pleases me. I still remember how she bought your birthday present. How she was all into shopping for your cousin, but not spending money on you. It’s a good thing that you’re not going out of your way for her either. I’m happy I’m there with you to see it.
So we go to your place, where you got my present from. It’s obviously a favorite shop of yours. And it so becomes of mine.
We have so much fun in there. There are shoes and bags, clothes, jewelry, household items, stationary, everything. All sort of traditional, eastern. You and I are having a jolly time. Looking at stuff. Making fun of some. Appreciating some others. It feels like we are two six-year-olds, left in the middle of the biggest toyshop, with no one around to stop us from picking up toys and playing with them.
You think I’m pretending. Now that I’m really having fun. How perceptive of you!
We stay there for a long time. We laugh and talk and hold hands. We are really six. Innocent. Playful. Happy. We don’t have a worry in the world. We are together. We have each other. Who can ask for more?
Then you suggest we go to the next shop, a book store, where I can get lost in the see of books for hours. Only thing is, a classmate of ours who happens to know Molly works there too. I’m doubtful. And I have better plans.
- How much time do you have left?
- An hour and a half.
- What do you say we take the rest of the party to my place?
You don’t say yes. You don’t say no either. I’m really sick and tired of your silent treatments. What I actually tell you is that I’m tired though. That I want to go back home.
We have to return our movies to the library first. You want to go with me. I always want to have you around. It’s settled.
On the way you talk to me:
- It’s just a matter of time management. It’s simply because Molly knows today is your birthday. I didn’t believe I could get to see you today. But I’ve spent the longest time in ages with you today. I just don’t want to push my luck. I just want you to do something for me. Don’t be a kid. Don’t go home thinking that I didn’t go with you because you’re not beautiful enough or desirable or anything like that. Ok?
I hear you. I see your point. But you’re not in my shoes right now. You’re not in my pain. You’re not living on tears and blood. You’re not holding on to a love your partner has denied. You don’t have sharp pieces of iced blood running through your veins. You don’t understand.
I still try to pretend.

When we come out of the video-library I lose it again. It’s because of what you say:
- Now I’m going to put you in a cab, make sure you go home.
- Where else do I have to go to? You have no idea how my life is. I just sit there all the time. The smallest sound from outside makes my heart stop. I wonder if it’s you. My phone never rings. Because whenever people call me I tell them that the battery is dying. I don’t want the line to be busy in case you call. I have all these fantasies about how and when we will be together again. I dream of having an actual foreplay with you. When we get a chance to make love every once in a blue moon, neither one of us can wait anymore…
I do it again. The whole nine yards. Tears. Sobbing. Coughing. Weeping. Breaking down in your arms. I just don’t want to be alone today, of all days. I want you. I want to be with you. I want to be close to you. I can’t let you go.
Yet, I do.
I turn my phone off the moment you let go of my fingers.

I’m home. Just arrived. I’ve taken my shoes off. Done nothing else yet. And I hear a strange noise outside. I look out. There you are.
How can this be happening?
My eyes are tricking me. My mind is. I need you, miss you so much, that I’m having hallucinations of you. But you wave. It is really you out there.
- What are you doing here?
- May I come in?
- Of course. Just explain what you’re doing here.
- Why is your phone off?
- What?
Yes. I always deny when I’m out of good justifications!
- Your phone is off. Why?
- Ok. I was upset. I wanted you to call, to get worried. Wanted you to suffer.
You don’t waste your time on stupid details anymore. I’m tucked in your arms. Warm. Safe. Happy. Alive. I’m beautiful and desirable enough. I’m tall and lean and attractive again. Your lips are on mine. Your tongue is getting to know mine. Your mouth is exploring mine. You still manage to talk:
- Are you still hungry?
- Not for food anymore.
- You know that I’m very tired.
- You mean I can’t help with that?
- You realize that I’m not a machine?
We sit on my couch. Still kissing. Still talking:
- You know that I have this fantasy about this couch? Can we turn it into a bed?
- Honey, we have made love on this baby before!
- No we haven’t.
- Yes we have. Remember the night before the trip? When you dropped me home? When you didn’t even take off your shoes or pants?
- Was it on this? Can you show me how it was?!?
You force me up. Our lips never part. And yet we get undressed in seconds. I’m lying down again. You’re on top of me. You keep asking if this is the way it was that night.
You’re hands cup my breasts. When your mouth leaves mine I can’t object. It feels as good where it is now. On my heart. Not simply feeling its beat. Nibbling. Teasing. Giving it a whole new beat altogether.
You’re on top of me. You wonder why I love it so much the traditional way! It’s funny. But you touch me on all the right places like this; outside and inside.
You’re on top of me. And you’re inside me.
Does everybody talk at this time? I don’t know. But I love it that we do. For one thing, it makes you last longer! You’re good without the help of the extra distraction that talking provides. But I love to make it take longer anyways. Besides, I don’t think you can lie to me now.
- How can you ever say no to this?
- I don’t.
- Tell me that you don’t love me now.
- I never meant it. Didn’t mean for it to hurt you.
- If you love me, admit it now. If you don’t, now’s the time to say so.
- Don’t you ever regret this. Don’t you ever blame me for this. Don’t you ever…
- I won’t.
- I do love you.
- I know you do. I’ve always known.
- Now tell me how you like it. I want it to be right for you.
- It’s always right. It’s you and me. How can it not be?
I can’t say that it’s our best time together. It’s the best time yet. But next time will be better. The next better. And the next…
It feels like our bodies are getting synchronized. Like they function as one. Can you feel it too?
- But you can’t blame me simply because I’ve said it.
- You’re telling me how you feel. You’re not promising me anything.
More tears. In your eyes. In mine. But I’m happy. Haven’t had such a great birthday in years. With so many ups and downs. In one simple day. You change my life in so many small ways. I love what you do to me; what you do to my life.
I love, you…

Betrayal Diaries VIII

How ironic that during the weeks that exams were going on I had difficulty getting out of bed each and every morning, but now that I have nothing better to do I can’t sleep. I go to bed not earlier than 2:00 pm, in hopes of sleeping late. I don’t want to wake up to my empty life and meaningless existence. I’m planning to wake up sometime around 11, definitely after 10 am. It’s 8:30 when I first look at my watch.
I tuck myself back in. I close my eyes. I empty my head of all thought. I try to go back to sleep. To go back to my dream; nightmare that is. I was talking to Molly in my sleep.
No use. I feel it’s hours later. Yet, it’s only a few minutes later when I look at my watch a second time. I feel hot. I get rid of my blanket. Then I’m cold. I cover myself up again. The cuts on my palm are itchy. I touch them and there’s light red blood on the sheets. The smell, the feel, the color, it wakes me up. I’m wide awake now.
I don’t get up though. I just lie in my bed. Watching the sky outside. Listening to the construction workers. Thinking of what I’m going to do to avoid you. To hurt to. To fight you back. To beat you at your own game. I’m no good at it. I’m too sensitive and caring to hurt people deliberately. Too stupid.
At around 9:00 I give in and get up. I’m walking around. Trying to force myself to do something worthwhile. To work on my book. To read. To study. To try to finish the kingfisher I’ve been painting. The least I can do is clean up around the place a bit.
I don’t feel like doing anything. Not even watching a movie or TV.
And then I receive a text-message. It’s you of course. Who else do I have to try to contact me?
I so desperately want to ignore it. I even consider turning my phone off. But I can’t. People, from virtually around the world will be trying to contact me in the next 24 hours to wish me a happy birthday. I don’t care about talking to any of them. I don’t give a damn about the whole birthday thing. But I don’t want anybody, specially my parents, to get worried for nothing. It’s not fair to them.
And I can’t simply ignore you. I can’t just not read your message or talk to you if you call. I can’t. I have to read it: “Morning Chica. Coming out in late afternoon. Read your mail. Please be patient. Will get in touch.”
That’s it! Like everything’s fine. Like nothing happened yesterday. Like, I don’t know. I’m somehow calmer after reading your message. I’m angrier at the same time. How can you disregard everything so easily? Why don’t you take what you do to me more seriously? What do I do wrong? What’s wrong with me? Or, with you? I wonder…
Fortunately you don’t give me much time to think about it. To make it even worse than it is, in my head. You call before I have enough time to build up more anger. You tell me that you want to go out with me today. That you have plans.
I know what you mean. You’re trying to make it up to me. You want me to have a fun nice birthday this year; with you.
I tell you that you shouldn’t bother.
I mean it. This time, you’ve hurt me bad enough for the pain to last me a long time. This pain I’ll never forget. Neither will I forgive you for it.
But it is obvious that I accept to go out with you, isn’t it?
I’m drying my hair when you arrive. You don’t use your key to come in. Are you scared that I might have locked the door from inside? I invite you in. It’s such an awkward situation. I don’t even look at you. I busy myself with my hair and my make-up and what I’m wearing. You seem too happy for it to be genuine.
I try not to be overdressed. Not to look too good. I end up one of my prettiest in days.
You try to look as if nothing’s wrong. Your cheerfulness ends up looking fake and forced.
- So, where are we going?
- I’m not telling you.
- Seriously Dude, you shouldn’t waste your time!
- Isn’t there anything that I can say or do to make it up to you?
I love it that you finally say it. You know how I hate your acts. I love the true you, the real you, the weak vulnerable one. Just saying that you want to make it right takes half my pain away. I don’t tell you that of course!
I think you don’t have the guts to be alone with me. Your eyes say you want to touch me and hug me and kiss me. You need to feel me, to hold me, to be close to me. You want to comfort me. You have to feel that I’m still yours.
But you’re scared. You remember all the times that I have rejected you and your touch. Your ego doesn’t take it well. You don’t want to be rejected again.
I want you to do all those things too. But I still see your face and hear your voice. I’m still living in yesterday. I have no intention of getting close to you. I won’t initiate anything today. I’m playing it cool; even cold.
We end up at a nearby café. You, with your ugly beard which I had hoped you meant to shave for my birthday! Me with my shining hair and fresh face. You in your black t-shirt and jeans. Me in my snow-white Nike sweeter. You smiling and laughing way too much. Me fighting the wave of anxiety leading to nausea.
What a couple!
It’s when you go to get a pack of cigarettes that I give myself away. I haven’t been eating or sleeping properly. I feel dizzy. I rest my head on the table. And I forget the bloody napkin that I’ve been pressing on my cuts.
It’s there on the table when you come back. I try to snatch it before you see it. But it’s too late. You’ve already seen. The look in your eyes kills me and hurts me and wants me to be in your arms, all at the same time.
- Where is it?
- Where is what?
- The new cut.
- What cut?
You insist and persist and I finally give in. I let you have a look at my palm. I’m hoping you’ll be happy to see the Band-Aid. You’re not. You remove it. It’s soaked in blood. You’re angry, hurt, upset, in pain. I’m sorry…
You hold my hand in yours. You start talking. About yesterday. I’m about to be sick. I can’t take it. I’m afraid. I’m afraid that whatever it is that you’re going to say will make it worse. But there is something in your voice, in the way you put your arms around me, that gives me the courage to listen to you:
- Yesterday, I know what I did was wrong. But there you were, so strong, it seemed like you’d finally made your decision. I thought if I tell you that I never loved you it will be easier for you. I thought it will help you. I didn’t want to hurt you.
Is that it? Why don’t I buy it? I ask you to go on.
- You know, you were walking out on me again. You know how that upsets me. I can’t beg you to stay. I can’t get down on my knees. I thought if I play it cool, if I say ok, fine, you want to go, go ahead, I though it will make you want to stay to piss me off.
Yet another version of your twisted truth. I still want to know more.
- Ok. Fine. You were hurting me. I wanted to hurt you too. You know how upset I get when you disregard what I do and feel for you so easily. I wanted to save my pride. To pretend that it wasn’t painful to watch you go.
This is closer to reality I realize. Everything you say has some truth in it. These are all parts of the reason why you were such a heartless bastard yesterday. I understand that. I can even forgive that. But before I do that I need you to prove yourself to me, once more.
It helps to see the tears in your eyes. I know it’s not easy for you to cry. It also helps to hear you say that there’s no way for such a love as ours not to be mutual. What helps most is that you hug me. The Spike who is so against public displays of emotion hugs his girl in a café, not caring about being seen, not caring if somebody tells his wife!
- Aren’t you feeling at least a little bit better now?
I am. You know I am. My face is glowing with peace and happiness again. It’s a good thing you can’t see the blood you shed yesterday. It’s still there. All over me.
I am feeling better. But physically, all the tears I’ve shed, all the sleep I’ve lost, and all the meals I’ve missed are getting at me right now. I’m cold. Sitting outdoors, on a sunny day, at 5:00 pm, I’m freaking freezing cold. My fingers are as cold as ice. I ask you to come back to my place with me. I’m hoping that you’ll really make me feel warm in the privacy of our place.
You’re in doubt.
What if you really had something planed for me today?
- You know what? I changed my mind. Let’s go wherever it was that you wanted us to go.
- No. it’s ok. I didn’t really want you to see where I was going anyways. What’s the point of dragging you all the way there? Let’s go back.
I really don’t want you to do anything for my birthday. I won’t be happy no matter what. I don’t want you to waste your time. I don’t want you to be disappointed. But I know it’s no use talking to you. You think I say it to test you; to see if you’ll actually just let my birthday go. So I don’t say anything. Let’s see what you’re going to do.
We come back. We sit on opposite sides of the room. I’d kill to be in your arms right now. But I have to be strong; I have to wait for the first move to come from you.
How silly!
You walk to the door to eavesdrop on some people talking outside. I join you. That’s the first move! Who makes it? I have no clue!
My cold hands are in your jeans’ back pockets. Your arms are around my waist. We kiss. I’m thinking of taking it slow. Taking my time. Having some actual foreplay for a change!...
Kissing me gently.
Kissing me softly.
Pressing me against your body.
Moving your hands up and down mine.
Biting my lips.
Kissing me more urgently.
I still make no move towards my bedroom.
Your phone rings.
I free myself from your arms and lips. I sit down to share some new music videos and songs with you. I can’t afford to cry. Not again. Not now
- I have to go. I’m really sorry.
I try to look cool and composed as I walk you to the door. I watch you put your shoes back on. I even say goodbye. Cool. Composed. It’s something in the way you look at me that breaks me. I’m hysteric. I don’t know what possesses me. Tears are running down my cheeks. My whole body’s shaking. I’m sobbing. I can’t breathe.
You’ve never been understanding or supportive at moments like this. But this time you hold me in your arms. I feel you’re about to cry too. It makes it even worse. The more you try to hold me tightly to stop the shivering, the worse it gets. The more tears you wipe and kiss away, the harder I cry. The softer you try to whisper to me and comfort me, the wilder my sobbing gets.
We stand there for minutes. I know you’re in a hurry to go. But all I can manage to say in between the sobbing and shivering and the tears is that I need you to stay, this one time.
You hold me until I have no more tears left to shed. I’m dead-tired. I just want to eat and go to bed. I need you around to be able to eat or sleep. And yet you have to go.
I then see that my cutter is missing. It’s not there on the table where I left it anymore.
- Where is it?
- Where is what?
- You know what. What did you do with it?
- With what?
- My damned cutter. You know I have knives too. Give it back.
- Now you’re going to cut yourself again the moment I go!
You’re so angry. You have every right to be. I wouldn’t be able to see you cut yourself open or burn yourself or give yourself bruises each time I hurt you. It must be pretty bad for you to take it. I understand. And only God knows how I want to stop. I just can’t. Not without your help.
You press me against your chest again. It makes me feel so tiny. I love that feeling. That feeling of belonging to someone strong. That feeling of having a man care for me and take care of me. I love that feeling.
You kiss me on the forehead. I love that feeling. That feeling of being with a man who isn’t into sexual pleasures all the time. That feeling of, the feeling of being truly loved, that feeling that you and only you can give me. I love it.
I let you go. I have to. You’re half way down the stairs when I get another fit of crying. But I don’t want you to feel you have to come back. I close the door.
I sit on the floor.
I have my cutter in my fist.
The floor is so cold, as is my body, as is the blade.
My head is hurting so bad, as is my heart, as is my hand.
The cold sweat on my body is so wet, as is the tears on my face, as is the blood…

Betrayal Diaries VII

Days pass by. It feels like on days that I don’t see you, even on days when I don’t talk to you much, like life stops. Feels like nothing can ever happen if you’re not there. Feels like nothing matters without you. What a mistake to let myself get in so deep…
On days like this I hate myself. I hate my life. I hate life. I wish I could hate you. On days like this I just want to go to bed, fall sleep, and never have to open my eyes to the cruel world again. I just want to forget. Forget that I ever met you. Forget that I ever got close to you. And forget that you ever treated me this way. Forget the whole day, and go back to my crooked happy life with you.
I have no intention of attending class today. Give me a break, the stupid exams just ended the other day! But you want to meet. You know how weak I am when it comes to that. You call me to you, I am there for you. I wish I could say the same about you. I don’t even hesitate to think about me. And besides, I know you haven’t noticed, but I stopped asking you to meet me weeks ago. Now I have to stick with what you plan. Since it doesn’t happen much, then I go with whatever you suggest.
So, I’m there in the morning. It’s supposed to be fun. But I’ve been away from you for a long time. Haven’t talked to you. Haven’t met you. Haven’t been in your arms. Haven’t felt your love. I’m needy. And when I’m that, what I do is hide behind a mask of anger. I am angry too. I remember all the things you never do, and all the times you’re never there, and I’m angry.
You’re the insensitive you today. The one who jokes and laughs and doesn’t even see the pain in my eyes. I don’t like you very much today!
- I don’t like you very much today!
- So you tell me!
- Ok. I guess this is it then. I guess I’ve had enough. More than enough actually. All this time, I’ve been fooling myself into believing that you care. It’s been a big lie.
- What’s been a lie?
- Everything. All of it. Every moment you spent with me. Everything we did together. It was a big lie. How stupid of me to believe you!
- Is that a question or a statement?
- You did tell me that you loved me. You know you did. And it was a lie. I have all the proof I need, more than what I need actually, to believe that you care for her. Not for me. You used me to get her jealous, to get her back to you. I hate it that you lied. I hate it that you’re so weak you can’t make a decision.
- Out of everything you just said, I only agree with the part about not making decisions.
- I don’t care. I want out. I’m getting out of your life…
I grab my purse and walk out. My tears are blinding me. I can’t walk. I sit on the sidewalk to cry my heart out. Maybe then I can move on. I’m out of breath, choking, when you come and touch me on my shoulder. I’m longing for you to try to hug me, to say something nice. As usual, you don’t.
You go back to the issues of me, never having believed you. And I still have unanswered questions:
- There’s no way, anyone, in the whole world, can love her and me both. I believe in loving different people at the same time. But it can’t happen with her and me. What exactly is it that you feel for her?
- Well, there are times when I want to bite her head off. And times when I care about her.
- What exactly does it mean I care about her?
- I don’t know. She still cares about me too.
- That’s where you’re wrong. But it’s not my problem. Why did you lie to me?
- I didn’t lie to you. Everything we did or had, it was real.
- It wasn’t. You told me you loved me.
- I don’t love anyone. If I loved her I wouldn’t be with you. If I loved you I would be with you.
This is the last blow. I hope you enjoyed it. My body’s burning on the outside. It’ll burn your hand to touch me. My inside, freaking freezing. Actually, frozen. I feel I will never be warm again. I feel there’s no hot red blood flowing in my veins anymore. It’s ice. Tiny pieces of it. Millions of them. They cut me and hurt me and pierce my heart. They kill me thousands of times a second. Yet they don’t draw blood. You don’t see me die, and die, and die again, in your merciless hands. You don’t see my blood on them.
- I thought you were with me. I believed you were with me.
- How could I have?
- The whole time, I believed you wanted to be there for me and with me all the time, because you loved me. But I thought you didn’t want to go back on your word to her; that you wanted to help her, and that was why you couldn’t leave her. That was why I could feel the smallest degree of respect for you. Now I see it had nothing to do with your moral and noble ideas. It’s simply because you don’t love me!
- Did you really know those things? Did you really believe me? Believed in me?
- Why else do you think I stayed with you?
I tell you that your eyes don’t talk to me anymore. That they never did. That it’s been my imaginations all the time, because I so desperately wanted to believe you. But, it’s a lie. Your eyes still talk to me. Maybe not of love. But they talk.
I know why you don’t love anyone. Because you don’t love yourself.
Today, you tell me that you married out of love and stupidity. With the second I totally agree. The first one, I don’t believe. Love, the sacred love that you and I say we believe in, it never ends in what you share with her now. True love doesn’t end in enmity and misery. True love doesn’t end! But you won’t feel it unless you come to terms with yourself. You have to feel love and respect for yourself first, so you can know you are worthy of that sacred love, then you’ll feel it, for the right person only. It’s in your eyes that you don’t love yourself much.
Your eyes talk to me. They tell me how I’ve hurt your pride today. That’s why I don’t slap you, though I believe you deserve it. They tell me how happy you are at the same time, because I just told you that I believed in you and in your love. If I say it now, now that I’m practically kicking you goodbye, then I mean it. And my heart goes out to you to see that happy amazed young look in your eyes. I’ve never seen your eyes like that with her. That’s one thing that I, and only I, can do for you.
Your eyes, how they talk to me! Your eyes tell me about your doubts. They are a reflection of mine. Am I actually watching my own eyes in yours, or am I truly reading the same question in yours? I don’t know. I guess you don’t mean it for me to see, but you’re not trying to convince me to stay with you, because you’re asking yourself if it will be better, easier, wiser, for both of us, to say goodbye today. I ask myself the same questions. I wonder if it will be best. But I don’t believe it is. Neither do you. You just don’t get on your knees to beg me to stay, because you want to be able to blame me afterwards. When the time comes, you’re going to tell me that I chose to stay, that I was in this relationship of my own accord. It’s your way of not feeling responsible.
Guess what, you will be responsible, no matter what. You took full responsibility for the whole affair on the night our story began.
Do you know what it is that you hold over me? What makes me come back to you all the time? What binds me to you so tightly that I can’t break free no matter how hard I try?
Your eyes.
- You can still prove to me that you care.
- I can’t.
- You can, in about five seconds.
- I can’t kiss you on Roger’s street!
- Not that!
- I can’t hug you either.
I walk on. Why not go to the freaking college now that I’m already dressed and close by?
I am kind of hoping that you’ve left in your anger. But you’re there before me. I don’t know if I’m happy to see you or not. You say hi like nothing’s happened. I tell you that I want to talk. As we walk side by side, as I tell you that hugging me isn’t a big sacrifice compared to what I do for you, though your face is still cold and composed, you brush your fingers on my hand. It sends a rush of shivers down my spine. Your touches, your hands, always do.
I don’t know how or why, but we’re back together again in seconds. The frozen blood in my veins begins to melt. But it’s going to be a long time before I can feel warm again. I don’t know if my heart, my insides, will ever fully heal.

The class is over now. I like it that you arrange to go rent some movies. You do it because you know I’m going and you want to be with me. I don’t know why we get into a fight though.
I do know why. I need you to be nice all the time. It’s the price you have to pay for the mess you got me into. You find it hard to try though. You think when I’m angry, you have the right to be angry too. But we manage to make it to the video-library in one piece! We get our movies. As we walk out, we are in a better mood.
What you never get is that these better moods are not real. They are nothing but me giving up, me resigning, me not fighting for you anymore, me losing hope, me losing the will to live. I guess you wouldn’t be so happy with these quiet moments if you knew their real meaning after all!
You, in your happy ignorance, suggest dropping me off at the shopping mall. I, being the scared cast-away who hangs on to anything to just keep on floating, say yes.
- Just don’t open your mouth on the way!
- What if I want to say something nice?
But I don’t open my mouth on the way. You try to get me to talk. But I refuse. You even tell me that we can make good friends. I just close my eyes to keep the tears from falling down.
- We do make good friends. We always have.
I can’t agree more. I love the kind of friends we used to be, before you started this story. But I don’t say it, because you hate my used-tos!
I get off your bike with a smile instead:
- Can I open my mouth for something besides talking?
- Sure!
There’s no way you can not know what I’m talking about. So I lean forward, put my hands on your shoulders, and my open lips on yours. I intend to just touch your lips. But with you and I, that doesn’t seem to be an option. With the first touch of my open mouth, you gasp. I’m as good at reading the touch of your lips, as I’m at hearing the look in your eyes! The gasp is partly because you’re not expecting such a passionate kiss, mostly because you’ve missed me and my kisses. It’s lasts longer than I originally planned. It’s your damned gasp. Now I can’t get enough of you…
When I finally manage to tear my lips from yours -no, you didn’t end the kiss- I’m all hot. I’m in love with you again. Any man who can kiss me like that and make me feel that way, he must love me even if he doesn’t know it himself.
- You’re crazy by the way!
- I know. You’d be too, if you loved me enough!
Sorry about that! It’s just one last venomous bite before you leave for the day. Something to remember me by!

At night, as you sit at your place, I’m still there with you, on your mind. You must be feeling pretty low, because even Molly who isn’t overly sensitive to your mood swings can see it:
- What’s your problem now?
- I don’t know. I was just thinking how things could still be hadn’t you sent Stormy those messages.
- Are you blaming me now?
- I’m not blaming. Just wondering. We used to have a great time, the three of us together. And there was a lot more to it. You didn’t have to worry about what was going on between the two of us then, because you were there with us all the time. Now, the moment I get out of your sight, you worry that I might be with her.
- There’s one thing we can do. We can send her a message on her birthday.
- I’m not doing anything. You want to, you do it.
You go on brooding over your lost friendship with me. Molly, like a number of times before, tells you that she doesn’t care about your affairs as long as she doesn’t catch you with your pants down! How can anyone call what you have a marriage, let alone a happy one, I wonder!
I don’t know what you believe, or rather hope, can happen. I’d rather not be naïve. I’d rather accept the fact that Molly and I can never be friends again. Honestly, we were never friends. As you said yourself this morning, a lot of people pretend to love her because they love you. I was the first in that line of hypocrites. I never liked her really. From the very first moment I laid eyes on her. But I was so in love with you, that I tried to learn to like her, to learn to be her friend. It was a bad idea. I would have been better off not having gained her weird trust! Wouldn’t be in this mess without her friendship. If only I hadn’t…

In the meantime, I’m sitting at my place. I’m in so much pain. Body and soul. I don’t see any point in loving you tonight. If love is to hurt all the time, then where do fairytales and happily-ever-after stories come from? Art is an imitation of life. If art can be happy, so can be life. Why isn’t mine?
I still have five cuts from the past few days on my left palm. They’re healing fine. Not much pain anymore. No blood at all.
Not working anymore.
Cutters, as I always tell you, are artists. I’m their master.
I cut my palm five more times. On the same spot. The new cuts cross the old ones. It turns my palm into a pink and red checkered piece of clot. But the red lines cover the pink areas in seconds. Now you can’t see the pattern. My palm is a shiny red piece of pain.
That’s exactly why I keep cutting the same palm. I won’t get scares. And I don’t have to cut too deep for maximum pain. I’m in so much pain. Body and soul. Tonight, I need you like never before. I need you to help me if I want to survive. I need you to help me, either way.
Then I sit down to send you another e-mail:

Spike,

Tonight I'm writing to ask you for help. I hardly ever ask you for anything. You never do anything for me even if I ask. But this time, this one time, I need your help. I won't survive without it.

Make the pain go away. Please. I'm begging you. Make the pain go away. Make the tears end. Make the fever stop. Make my heart go back to its normal beat. Make my world warm again. Make the pain go away. Please...

I don't care what you do. I don't care how you do it. As long as I can breathe without feeling the weight of the world crush me. As long as I can go to sleep at night and not wake up all sweaty and shivering and covered in tears. As long as I can eat and drink and actually hold it in my stomach for half an hour and not throw up my insides.
How do I make you believe me? How do I make you trust me? How do I prove to you that I have no master plans for a future with you?
How do I prove to you that I don't even dream of a future with you?
I just want you for now.
I just want you to be nice. I want my kind considerate Chico back. Or was he ever there? Maybe I just imagined him. Maybe he was just a dream. Hallucinations. I just want you to have a good time, and help me have a good time for the next few months that we can be together. I want our wild sex -can't call it lovemaking after today- and our moments of doing crazy stuff like we are school kids again. I want us to hang out, talk on the phone, laugh at people, and make a million tiny pieces of shiny crystals of memory to keep in our hearts for the rest of our miserable lives. Memories to shine through the dark moments when you're stuck with your bitch on your side of the world and I'm pretending to be happy with my lonely creative life on mine.
I don't want anything else from you. I don't want to give birth to your baby girl to have to raise her alone, or with a father like you. I don't want to marry you to live in doubt forever, doubt if it's because you're STUCK with me that you live with me. I don't want to be your Chica for the rest of my life, knowing that you'll always ignore me and mistreat me and abuse me. I don't want to love you forever to know that it's a one-sided love, have always been, will always be.
I just want a few happy months.

If you can't do it, just say so, so I can figure out what I should do. Maybe I can come up with other options. Maybe I can just kill you and end our misery. Maybe I can just die and end it all...

Tonight, it's the last time, ever, I say or write or in any way express the fact that I love you.
Come tomorrow morning, I'm going to give it all I have, to remedy that worst mistake of all...

Stormy...
When will you read this?
When will you reply?
Will you choose to be there for me this time?
I wonder…

Betrayal Diaries VI

It can’t be more than five minutes since the beginning of the exam. I’ve just had time enough to go through the questions. That’s what I always do. I have a look at them all. Choose the ones I know I can write more about. Then I start writing. Today, I don’t have anything to write. My mind is as blank as the sheets in front of me. I wonder if I should get the hell out before my paper is signed. I take off now, it will be like I’m absent. I sit ten more minutes, they sign the paper, I officially screw up!
I’m about to stand up. But I first glance at you. You seem to be at a loss for words to write too. But you take the moment to look back at me and give me that dazzling smile. Despite the ugly beard, I can’t resist. I sit back down. I guess I can try to sell my opinions for actual literature analysis! I can try for sure. The only problem is, I’m so tired from the hectic morning we had, I can’t even make up anything to write. I’m all sleepy and tired. My body hurts. I need a shower. I need to eat, and to sleep…

I have a very bad feeling. I feel something’s going to go wrong today. I’m so sure of it. I send you a message asking if you’re sure it’s safe for you to drop by this morning before the exam. I want you to know that I understand, and that it’s ok if you can’t make it. You just ignore me.
I’m drying my hair when you come in. you’re so in time! Are you trying to impress me or did you really miss me that bad? I wonder!
I call you to the bedroom. You look at me and you don’t forget to complement my hair. My sensitive considerate man! We talk about the exam. You know how I love to tease you about not showing up for exams. Today, I actually mean it. I really don’t know anything. But I also know that if I don’t come you won’t do well either. We joke around. You drink your favorite orange juice. We talk some more. I tease you some more about your stupid beard. I beg you to shave. You refuse. You don’t know how serious it is to me, do you? But I guess I can love you even when you’re so ugly!
It all starts with me telling you that I won’t kiss you again until you shave. On the one hand, I do want you to get rid of it. On the other, I’m in your arms, how can I resist? I try anyway. As I brush my lips against yours without really kissing you, I whisper:
- I’ve never raped a drug-dealer before!
- There’s always a first time!
- You want me to rape you? I mean, do we have time for it?
We have some 45 minutes. We have to, definitely have to, leave by ten if we want to make it to the exam in time. 45 minutes is good though! I don’t know how we make it back to the bedroom. Who leads the way? Who closes the door? Who starts it? Who does what? I don’t know.
All I know is that we’re in my half dark bedroom. The door’s closed. I’m in your arms. You’re pressing me against the wall. Kissing me like you haven’t kissed me in weeks. Kissing me like you know you’ll never kiss me again. Your hands, the hands I’ve loved so much since the very beginning, they’re going up and down my body. Caressing. Pressing. Touching. Teasing. Bringing me to life. Killing me.
I don’t know how we get undressed. One moment I’m pressed against the wall; the next we’re naked; in the bed; me on top of you. You and I know it’s not because we’re always pressed for time that we are in such a hurry all the time. It’s simply the fact that we can’t get enough of each other.
Afterwards, when I still have you inside, before our heart even start to go back to their normal beat, when our breathing is so fast we can barely talk, when you tell me how amazing it is for you, I’m thinking; “What we have here, it’s something to die for. I’ve never had it with anyone before. I know you don’t have it with anybody else. There are people out there who can’t dream of something even close to what we have. Still, you’re ready to let it go. You tell me that it’s for a short while. You force it down my throat that it’s take it or leave it. That I have no choice. That your pointless life is to be committed to that emotionless wife of yours. Is it not worth anything to you?”
It always comes to me making the sacrifice. I am going to be your sacrifice no matter what I choose to do. It’s too late for me now anyways. That’s why I decide to put on the show of being so happy for the rest of the day.
Poor naïve you!
We get dressed in a hurry. Will we ever have time enough, just to do something at our leisure? I’m putting on my mild almost invisible make-up. You’re walking around. Going through my stuff. Talking and laughing. Taking picks at me getting ready. You’re such a child when you’re happy; such a baby. I love to see you like that. That alone is worth any sacrifice I may have to make. Having more memories of you, so happy, because of me, it will be worth having to live the ruins of the rest of my life!
You’re supposed to give me a ride to college. Like the good old days. I love our rides. Me sitting there with you. Having no choice but to hold on to your body. Feeling your tummy, your Kevin Bacon that is! It makes me feel so close to you. It is so close to you. I don’t care if someone sees us, not today. Today you’re happy. I’m happy for you. The world is a happy place today.
On the way, as we approach a red light, I don’t know why, but I ask you if you have a driving license. You don’t. Just as I thought! The red light’s getting closer. The cab in front of us hits its breaks with no warning. We hit the car. Not hard enough for any one to get hurt. Not even hard enough for your bike or the cab to get a nick. But it’s hard enough, the sound laud enough for the police officer to notice us. He walks up to us. Asks for your license!
I guess it’s a good thing that I’m with you. You have a temper. But since the last time you went totally mad at someone in my presence, after embarrassing yourself that one last time, I see you constantly fighting to keep calm. You do it again. The fact that I’m there, seeing you do it, helps. My presence helps in other ways too I guess. Having a young smiling lady can’t hurt! We get out of it in no time with no real loss. We don’t even need to tell the officer our names.
I’m having a laugh over the whole thing.
- I’m happy you enjoyed your time! I thought you might get upset or be scared. Didn’t think you’d be laughing.
- Nothing like this has ever happened to me. It was a first. And it was absolutely funny!
- Happy you loved it!
It’s embarrassing that we can’t go inside together. But anyone can see us. And we don’t want that. You drop me off at the main gate. You drive to the back gate yourself. Now I look at my watch. And man, we are late! It’s 10:27! The exam starts in three minutes. Please hurry up!
I run inside. Check my seat. Find it. I haven’t settled in my seat yet when they hand over the papers. You’re not here yet. What’s taking you so long?!? I have half an eye on my paper, trying to read the questions. Keeping half an eye on the door, waiting for you to walk through. And finally you do. Now that you’re safe in your seat, I can actually try to concentrate on the exam.

I’m all sleepy and tired. My body hurts. I need a shower. I need to eat, and to sleep. I can’t come up with anything more to write. I officially screwed up the exam. There’s still about two hours left. I know I can’t write anymore. The question is, do I sit here to glance and smile at you, hoping that it will help you; or do I just walk out and save myself from dying of boredom. I keep looking at you. You’re not writing either. God, you must be in the same boat as me! Then I look around. No one seems to be doing that well! Ok. So, maybe it’s not just me. Maybe it is a really difficult exam after all. That helps.
I decide to get out. You watch me get up and leave. And luckily, it doesn’t seem to have upset you. In less than 15 minutes, when you join me outside, I realize why! You had no idea what to write either.
We find a sort of out-of-the-way place to sit down and chat. It’s so freaking early, you don’t have to run back to your place. You start talking about the exam which becomes our most recent joke. How could two good students do so badly on a simple exam? But it’s said and done now. Nothing can change it.
We move on to talking about my book. We talk about names. We discuss the title. I tell you what I’m doing and how I plan to do it. You ask me about the cover design. I tell you that it’s going to be one of your dream-like crazy creations. We talk about it for about an hour. I then remind you that you have to go. To you, it probably seems like a fake attempt at being understanding. In reality, it’s an attempt at being cool, not minding the fact that you always have to go back to her. You say you have to return a movie on your way back.
- Can I go with you?
- Sure!
You look so happy that I suggested that. I know that the few more minutes that we can spend together this way mean as much to you as they do to me. I walk out and wait for you to pick me; which by the way takes a long time. Even the fact that you take detours and avoid busy streets seems funny to me today. She doesn’t scare you enough for you to actually obey her; but you’re scared enough to try to hide your relationship with me! It is funny, in a sad bitter way…
As we reach the video library your phone rings. You excuse yourself. You walk ahead. Like you don’t want me to hear you talk to her. Which you don’t! You don’t want me to hear you call her dear. I wonder if you really call her that because you want to keep her off your back, by pretending that you’re still into her. Or maybe you do really feel something for her? Then again, if you have any feelings for her, what are you doing being with me? If you don’t, why do you stay with her? I wonder if you don’t want me to hear you talk to her because you don’t want me to get upset, or is it because you don’t want me to upset you over it? I wonder!
Now the day is ruined for me. But as Freddie Mercury so wisely said: “The show must go on”! I still pretend to be ok. We walk in. you return the movies. You get your new ones. And I even suggest to you to see Chicken Little. Bad idea. It’s only after you get the movie that I realize you’re going to watch it with her. I’m even more upset now. Yet the show goes on.
Outside, back on the street, you’re walking me towards your bike again. I hate to do it, but I’d rather do it myself than have you do it:
- Shouldn’t we say goodbye?
- But I hate to say goodbye. I want you to stay!
I love it that you go so week and mellow because of me! Is it selfish? I love it anyways!
- Are you going to head back straight home?
- No honey. I’m really hungry. I have nothing at home. I’ll probably eat and then go back
What I don’t want to tell you is that my heart is blowing up into a big ball of pain again. You know that I need to distract myself at times like this. So, I’m going to probably walk home, the whole six kilometers. Hopefully, by the time I get there, I’ll just drop dead-tired!
- Are you going to cry again?
- No!
- Maybe just a little bit?
- No. I’m fine.
- Please try not to cry. Not today. Be happy. Be my good Stormy. Ok?
- Honey…
I’ve already got the tears in my eyes, waiting to flow out!
I walk away. This time, I don’t turn back to see if you watch me or not. Will you go on like this, being all nice and kind, the way you promised me you'd be?

Betrayal Diaries V

What a life. What a mess. It seems sort of calm these days actually, but you and I know that it’s just the calm before the storm.
It’s just that I’m sick and tired of trying. Sick and tired of begging for your love. Sort of like telling you that it’s ok if you don’t love me, because I don’t love you either anyway. Bullshit of course. We both know that I’m crying my eyes out, nonstop.
I’m trying to study. As usual, it’s no use. My mind wanders off. I have so many problems; not doing well on a stupid exam is the least of them. My heart is broken. My life is ending. My happiness is being taken away. Who needs to worry over exams? I have you to treat me bad. I have to find a way to deal with your new ways. I have to make peace with you being cold and heartless. I don’t have to think about exams to give myself a hard time!
You call me early afternoon. Like the past few days, you’re all laughter and jokes. Pretending to be happy? Playing cool? Showing me that you don’t care? I don’t really know anymore. So I try to talk to you. To tell you how I feel. Do you ever listen?
I try to tell you how hard it is to believe that you care, that you love me, that you still want to spend your stupid otherwise wasted time with me. You just get upset. You always do. You have no ear for bitter truths. We say goodbye the usual way. You’re your cold self. I’m my tearful one! I feel the whole situation is getting out of my hands. I have to do something to change it. I don’t really like to play on your pity. Doesn’t seem possible to play on your heart since you don’t seem to have one anymore. Why not play the game your way? I’m going to be the cool one who’s ok with anything at all. I’m going to be the one who doesn’t need anything anymore. The one who doesn’t care. Let’s see if that can touch you!
So as I sit there to cry – which happens to be all I do these days apparently- I send you an e-mail:


New policy: I'm gonna take everything you say at face value. I'm gonna believe in you. You say you still feel the same way for me, I buy it. You say you miss me too, I buy it. You say you do whatever you can to be with me, I buy it.
See, the thing is, doubting you is the most painful, exhausting thing of all. I don't wanna have to do it anymore. I want to believe you. It makes sense. How can I be so madly in love with someone who doesn't even care??? You have to love me back, as passionately...

I love you. I know you love me. I'm going to try to calm down. Let you take your time. Wait for you to decide how you wanna be with me. If you choose not to, it'll be your decision. You have every right to...

Peace...

P.S: I need to talk to you, so much! I miss you. I miss seeing you, sitting with you, talking to you, touching you. I miss being close to you. Now that I think of it, it's obvious that you miss me too. I still remember how excited you were about my haircut the other day. That is, before you totally forgot it! Now that I mentioned it, I'm going to wear my hair in a tight ponytail tomorrow. You wanna see how it looks, you COME to me! Understanding your situation and your limitations is one thing, not needing you and not missing you and not wanting to be around you is a different one. I might try to the first; the second is out of the question.
One more thing: these days, if I'm sad or upset, if I don't study, if I cry a lot, it's not you, not your fault. I'm feeling so bad because I understand that I have to give up. I cry a lot because I don't know how long it can go on. I'm not angry at you or sad because of you. I'm mad at the world, at life. I'm sad FOR us. But I'm happy that I have you. I'm grateful that you're around. I appreciate all that you do for US. My happiest moments are when you call. My worst are those when I just sit there, counting the seconds, waiting for your call. Not enough happy moments, huh? I love you. I love it that you're with me. I love it that I'm yours. Stick around some more. You still wanna read The Book, right?

In a few hours you obviously read it. I receive your text-message: “Hi Stormy. Now that I know you believe me: I MISS YOU MORE THAN YOU CAN IMAGINE. I WISH I COULD MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD ABOUT YOURSELF. I MISS YOU.”
I’m lying on the couch trying to study when I read it. It’s no surprise that tears run down my face. I write back: “Just try to talk to me. I know you miss me. I miss you too. I’m dying without you. I’m so tired of crying all the time, being without you every moment. Talk to me please…”
You call in a few minutes, like I know you will. You’re still making jokes, but there’s no mistaking the undertone of worry and concern in your voice. Now I really know that you still care. But I need to hear it from you:
- I have to know what’s going on. If you tell me that you don’t care anymore, I can accept it. But I can’t not know!
Silence.
- You don’t care anymore. Do you?
More silence. Except that I can hear the sound of your breath. Sounds like you’re about to cry. I don’t want you to. I hate it when I make you cry. Not because I’m the traditional woman who believes men shouldn’t cry. Simply because I know it’s not easy for you. I know you must be in real pain to do it. And I don’t want to be the cause of that pain. You finally manage to tell me how stupid and crazy I am to think that way:
- You don’t understand. I’m a fucking married man. I can’t even sit and cry. I have people to answer to. I want the whole world to know that we’re together. I’m so proud of it. But I can’t! I have to consider the situation. I can’t do anything!!!
My heart goes out to you. I know how much pain you’re in right now. And at the same time, I want to kill you for being stupid you, for wanting to stay in that messed-up marriage, for not daring to change your life. I’m as much of a victim of this marriage as you are.
We sort of make up. You are pissed at me for not intending to show you my haircut tomorrow. You threaten to get physical to have your way! I know you will do it! And I love you for it. But, it won’t be too good for you to be seen wrestling with me at college just to see my haircut! I promise to take my shower and do my hair before showing up. I want to look good for you anyways.
When we say goodbye I’m feeling a bit calmer. I guess I just miss you. Let me have some quality time with you, and I won’t complain about anything anymore!
I then sit down to watch one of my favorite men ever on Opra. Anderson Cooper, a journalist from CNN is on the show tonight. He’s the image of middle-age charm and sex-appeal! Silver-grey very short hair, bluest eyes ever, high cheeks, tall and lean. And to top it all, he’s a great human being. I’m kind of drooling over him when I hear the key turn in the lock!
My God!
I’ve never felt uglier! Never with you. I’m in what I normally sleep in. My hair is a mess. The notes and books and all the reading material that I’ve been ignoring all day are lying around on the desk, chairs, and PC. And I’m in your arms. And the world is beautiful. And life is a blessing. And there’s no pain anymore.
You keep telling me how good my hair looks. How good I look. I feel the blood rush to my face. I love it when you compliment me. You know how much I love to look good for you.
You don’t stay more than five minutes. But I’m happy with that too. It’s the best five minutes. As you kiss me goodbye I reach out. But I stop half way. I know you have to go. I know you’d die to stay. Why make it more difficult for you? Tonight, for once, I’m content with this unexpected five-minute visit. I decide to let you go in peace!
Now I’m surfing the web. What I see, it makes me feel so bad, and yet so great. How do you do this to me all the time:

Love the new policy. Gives me peace to know that you are making peace with me. I won't doubt you ever again. Be strong. Be good. Be my chica.
Stop accusing me of not caring, of not wanting, of not trying.... Please.
I have not forgotten about your hair.
I don't have any plans on my mind to hurt you.
I do not want to forget about you.
I do want to be around as much as I can.
I want you to be happy. I want you to write your book.
I have not forgotten about your book.
I want you to LIVE.
I want you to love life.
I'm sorry if I can't be all the things you want me to be. It's not fair to ask you for things when I'm not giving any in return. I keep on asking for understanding and yet I myself don't understand you. I am sorry for everything. I am sorry.

You shouldn’t be. I’m not. I am happy. I still have you. Can’t you see that? The days of wanting to die each and every minute, days of constant misery and never-ending pain, days of not being with you anymore, my bad days are yet to come…

Betrayal Diaries IV

I don’t feel like showing up for the exam, again. For the last one, you were pissed afterwards because I had not suggested that you should pick me up. For this one, you say you’re going to be a bit late. Tell me that you’ll see me there. Not a hint about picking me up. It will be awkward today I know. But being strong as I am, I have to put on a happy face, and be there.
So I wake up early. I take my longest cold shower ever. I just stand there, with my face turned towards the splash of freezing cold water, wishing for the redness and puffiness of my eyes to go away. I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing that I’ve been crying for you and because of you.
It somewhat works.
I’m in college now. With the gang of girls always hanging around. I don’t know why it happens. I’m not overly friendly with them. I talk and laugh with them in two cases only: either if I’m in a really happy mood, or if I have a show to put on! Today, the second case applies. I’m with them, or rather I seem to be. I’m looking for you. Everywhere. You’re not there. Nowhere to be seen. Are you doing this on purpose? Are you avoiding me? I finally message you, to tell you that I’m getting worried.
In five seconds, as I’m making plans with a friend to pay a visit to a beauty saloon after the exam, I see you walk out of the building. You have been there all along. Avoiding?!? Punishing? I see you’re watching me. I smile. It takes me a couple of minutes to walk to you.
You look so ugly! All tired, not shaved again, sort of a mess. Is it the exams, or is it me that’s putting you under so much pressure?
My favorite girl, Anna is there with you. We should make it seem natural. We laugh and talk of silly things like you looking like a drug-dealer! And she tells me that you fell when you first walked up the stairs to go inside. As I laugh, some guy walking by kicks you in the ankle accidentally. I laugh harder at you:
- Why do these things happen to me today?!?
- Maybe because of the hearts you break! There’s always going to be a pay-back time!
I see it your eyes that you know what I’m talking about. I love it when your eyes talk to me. They don’t just read me. They give you away too. Maybe giving away is not the right word. Maybe you want them to talk back. Maybe you find it easier to communicate that way. Maybe you love to talk to me through your eyes too.
We go in for the exam. On the stairs, the air just rushes out of my chest. Like I’m chocking on nothing. The reality is, I’m choking on you ignoring me like I’m just a classmate, not even a friend. I stand there, trying to get some air into me, to breathe, and to stop the tears from falling down. Good thing is, or maybe painful thing, that you walk on. You don’t wait to ask me what happened. I catch up a few minutes later.
You sit at your desk, on the far right side of the room. I take mine, somewhere in the middle. We can still watch each other though. And we do, throughout the exam. Each time I see you watching me I just smile. I ask you to concentrate, and to write. As for me, I’m more focused on fighting my tears than on the exam. I do cry more than a number of times. And I think you see it once or twice.
When you walk out there’s still about an hour left. I’m answering the last question, need about fifteen more minutes. But I see you go out, see you hesitate at the door, see you turn to look at me, see you see me. But I don’t see you giving any sign, any clue, any hint whether or not you’re going to wait for me. I have to get out. In five minutes, I fill out some three pages! I’m not even sure if what I’m writing is what the question asked. I don’t have two seconds to spare to go back and re-read the question. I’m out two seconds sooner, two more seconds to be with you.
I’m out there now. Looking for you. You’ve disappeared again! I call. You don’t pick up. I call again. Your phone is off! I sit down on the ground. I have my face in my hands. I’m crying my life out! People walk up to me to ask if I’m fine. What is this, a joke? I’ve never heard a more stupid question! Of course I’m not fine! Can’t they see that?
I cry for the whole hour, until the others come out and join me. Only then I wipe the tears away –that’s supposed to be your job! - and smile.
I’m going to get a new haircut today. My friend, Nina, is taking me. So we say goodbye and off we go. In search of new beauty! Have you ever heard them say that whenever a woman’s heart is broken, she has to get a new hairdo? I’m at the saloon, looking at the styles, discussing them, trying to choose one when my phone rings. It’s you. I pretend to be fine. I let you talk:
-Before you say anything, pass any judgment, let me explain. Molly was there, sent me a message. I had to be with her. Then you call. My pocket is vibrating!
I have to laugh. It might be a hopeless situation. A lot of righteous people out there must believe me to be evil in disguise. But it sure as hell is funny too. Your pocket vibrating! You’re so scared of the little brat, your whole body shakes at the thought of her anger! What has she done to you?
You call me again in about three hours. I hear it in your voice how excited you are about my haircut. How you can’t wait to see me. You keep asking what exactly I did. How short my hair is now. How I look. I keep telling you that you should see and judge for yourself. This is why I love to stay with you. Because you care so much. Because you get all happy and excited and enthusiastic for anything related to me, even as stupid as a haircut. I know this something that you share with me, and only me. I know you don’t have it with her.
Two more hours. You’re text-messaging me now. Asking me questions about exams. Silly excuses for you to pretend that you don’t miss me that bad! I can read you like an open book, my man! So I remind you that you promised to be nice and kind. I’m hoping that it will touch your non-existent heart!
It does!
You call in about five minutes:
- I hate to say this. But I have to. How many times have I called you since we left college today?
- Three times I guess!
- Yes, this is the third time. And why do you think I call?
- Because you feel bad over what you did?!?
- NO!!! Sometimes you can be really silly too, for such a bright girl! Not because I feel bad. It’s because I’m trying to be nice to you!
One more thing that I love about you: that silent laughter in the depths of your voice. Specially when I say something stupid. It’s like you know that I play dumb to make you laugh. And it works. Nine times out of…nine!!!
Tonight, I believe I can sleep…